


Make Me Feel

by ro_shepard



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Comfort Sex, Crying, Depression, F/M, Female Character of Color, Hurt/Comfort, Social Anxiety, Social Commentary, Social Issues, Soft Steve, Writing therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-09-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:33:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26147974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ro_shepard/pseuds/ro_shepard
Summary: Steve, now retired, hates the fact that the modern world is taking its toll on you both.This story will allude to the 2020 political and social events in the United States.It will reference protests.It will reference advocacy.It will reflect emotional trauma.Feel free to pass on this story if you feel bothered by these things.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Black Reader, Steve Rogers/Reader
Comments: 4
Kudos: 27





	Make Me Feel

**Author's Note:**

> Re: the reader model for this story, let it be known that I love Zazie Beetz. I love her style, I love her hair, and she secretly inspires the main female character in a lot of my stories.
> 
> **This story may not be reposted elsewhere.**

Steve pushed his key into the slot of his brownstone and twisted the knob. "Yeah, I'll bounce that off the missus, but that sounds good, Sam. We'll talk that over with Tony tomorrow to see if we can set up funding for bails. Natasha said she could get those protesters out within twenty-four hours."

The shrill of his home alarm beeping interrupted his conversation as he punched the alarm code into the panel. He shifted his phone to the other ear and closed the door behind him.

"Look, I'm home. We can pick this back up in the morning."

"Sure, Cap. Give Y/n my love."

"Will do. Good night, Sam."

Steve blacked out his screen and tossed his keys into the bowl on the console table. His eyes drifted up to the oval mirror above, the darkened circles were only the start of how exhausted he was.

While he had retired from his life as an Avenger, advocacy work was proving to be just as draining. He shrugged out of his worn, leather jacket and hung it up next to the petite, black peacoat. It lingered with the soft scent of your vanilla perfume. His fingers carded through his short hair as he let out a weary sigh.

"Babe?"

Steve set his shoes aside and eyed the top of the stairs, waiting for a response. His deep, timbered voice called out again as he started up the stairs. He knew you were home. Aside from your coat still there, your keys had been in the small, wooden bowl as well. Actually, he knew you were home because you rarely left the house anymore. 

With the virus that was making its way around the world, Stark Industries provided the means for most of its employees, outside of R&D, to work remotely. That included you and your entire education foundation team, which had since changed its focus to increasing civic engagement with young people.

At first, Steve thought you looked absolutely adorable as you did your video calls, with your business casual tops, graciously form-fitting yoga pants, and colorfully painted, barefoot toes.

However, once quarantine life was met with mass civil unrest, you started to decline.

Some days, you barely made it out of bed at all. Not just that, but you were always a source of hope and support to everyone around you that you never seemed to have a moment to deal with your own thoughts and feelings. You were constantly giving of yourself and not replenishing in healthy ways.

You were consuming too much of the outside world and, if Steve was being perfectly honest with himself, he was worried about you. 

Twitter.

Headlines.

The news.

Thank God you didn't use that facebook thing.

Regardless, every day, there seemed to be more despair, more civil unrest, more injustices revealing the cracks in a broken system. While this was something that Steve had fought against before, this time it was brewing within his own beloved country. However, now, instead of fighting in war zones with a battle suit and shield, he was in slacks and button ups, working alongside his fellow, retired Avengers at the advocacy level - with words, campaigns, and direct action alongside everyday, normal people.

This, the scale of it this time, was just too much some days. The battles were on all fronts, physical, mental, emotional, direct and stealth attacks from 100 different forms of media. 

Steve's heavy steps ascended the wooden stairs, his broad shoulders passing the tastefully framed photos of his life with you. Snapshots of the two of you from your honeymoon. Candid photos of you both at a farmer's market and another at an ice cream shop at Coney Island. A picture from your wedding day caught his attention and his stare lingered. It was a moment capturing Sam, Bucky, and himself, with you held close, all making the most obscure faces. A grin tugged at his lips as he recalled the best day of his life - it had not been that long ago, but so much of the world seemed to change in so little time. 

The next pictures were more from your wedding. A particular favorite was a portrait of you, with your wedding veil, and the smile that captured his heart from the very first time he saw you. It was as bright and full as the moon itself. 

He missed seeing it.

"Babe?" Steve called one last time as he approached the master bedroom.

You were sitting at the edge of the bed, wearing a black cami with those red, what you called, "booty shorts," he liked - the ones with the white piping. Your spiraled, deep chocolate twists, were loosely bound atop your head.

As he stepped into the room, his heart sank when he saw your face, television remote in hand, with glassy eyes pooling with tears yet to fall. 

Your name was soft on his exhale, but you didn't seem to hear him.

Steve stepped closer, but your eyes remained on the screen flashing with crying mothers, bodies riddled with bullet holes, angered mobs, and impassioned protesters. Guns. So many guns and threats of violence. He slipped his fingers over yours and gently pulling the remote from your grasp and switched off the images. He kneeled down and lightly ran the pads of his fingers along the outside of your bare legs, "Hey, come back to me." 

You blinked and a slight movement of your head let Steve know that you finally heard his voice. Another blink of those big brown eyes of yours and a sheltered tear fell. 

"You said that you were going to take a break from the news."

"I... I know, Steve." You were shaking. The sigh that followed was like the last sputter of fuel in a gas tank. "I have to keep up. I have to know what's coming."

Steve reached upward for your small hand that rested in your lap, entwining his fingers with yours and kissed your knuckles. 

"I need to have talking points for our young voter drives. I need to know what's happening out there. I need to see -"

Steve cut you off, "We talked about this, Y/n, about limiting how much you take in. Stressing yourself out like this all the time is not going to solve -"

"These are MY people, Steve!" you snapped. "These are my people being killed and I... I don't understand why this is happening. Why can't we all be held accountable to the same rules?" 

You were crying again. Fuck, he hated how powerless he felt it when you cried. 

Steve lowered his forehead to rest on your knees. He didn't have the answers. He knew that things for Black people were bad back in his day, but when he woke up in 2011 the world had seemed to be more inclusive, more unified... more accepting and with that, he was able to have you. 

He would have had you anyway, in any lifetime. 

He swiped his broad thumb over the ring on your finger and kissed it gently.

"Baby, I can't even begin to understand how you feel..." 

That was true. Sure, as a scrawny kid he knew what it was like to be picked on, but that had nothing to do with his skin color. His Irish ethnicity, maybe, and his unwillingness to acquiesce to bullies, definitely, but he was never treated unfairly because of his skin. 

Your voice cut through his thoughts. 

"I'm so tired, Steve. I don't feel anything. I'm numb. I'm just... numb."

That hit him harder than and punch he had received or any bullet that had punctured his muscular form. 

"Hey," Steve called with a squeeze of his hand. Your tired, red-rimmed eyes met his own. "We're going to get through this together. Right now, you can't let this consume you. Don't let them take you away. Stay with me."

He let go of your hand and rested his head against you once more.

"I can't force everyone to make morally good choices and I can't throw my shield at the people on TV, believe me I would love nothing more..." his words drifted as he smoothed his hands alongside your hips as he nuzzled the bottom of your left thigh. "But, I can help you feel. I can let you know that you matter and that I love you."

Steve leaned forward and slowly dragged his lips up the silky brown length of your thigh. He heard the stutter of your breath. "Y/n," he whispered reverently against your flesh. His fingertips trailed over the white trim of your shorts. "Let me help you get out of your head, even if it's just for a moment." 

You slowly blinked and nodded, your dark eyes were finally starting to focus on him, "Please, Steve." 

That was all the permission he needed. 

Steve planted his palms onto the mattress, pushing himself up to lean onto, claiming your mouth with gentle, assuring passes, tasting the salt from your tears. As he stood, he framed your cheeks with his large hands and kissed you deeper, forcing you to crawl backwards onto the king-sized bed.

"Please, Steve," you requested again as you nipped his bottom lip.

Steve pulled away with a groan, his eyes darkened with the desire to please. He curled his fingers into the waistband of your bottoms, pulling off your shorts and panties in one smooth motion. He angled his chin into the crook of your neck, "You never have to beg, Y/n," his breath puffed against the column of your throat, "I'm always happy to give you what you need." He easily flicked away the straps of your tank top, causing the soft cotton to droop away from your chest. 

With a firm tug, the material was bunched down to your waist, freeing your perfect tits to his gaze. His cock stirred, tight in his trousers as he looked over your body.

He wanted you. 

He always wanted you. 

Steve cupped your breasts into his big hands, roaming over your soft mounds with a series of open-mouthed kisses. He tongued over the dark brown peaks of your nipples, relishing in the quiet sighs that slipped through your parted lips. 

He took his time, despite being eager to taste you, to be inside of you. He wanted you to relax your body, your mind, and just focus on the feel of his ministrations. As he worked his way down, settling himself between your legs, he reached for your hand. 

"Close your eyes, Y/n. Just concentrate on how good I make you feel."

Steve watched as you gave a small nod and followed his guidance. He lifted your knees to rest over his wide shoulders. The tip of his tongue darted out to wet his lips, the anticipation almost as sweet as your familiar scent. He nuzzled his nose against your clit and then drank you in, savoring you slowly with attentive lips and a dexterous, clever tounge.

Your free hand found purchase in his hair as you rocked your pelvis against his face, seeking more from him. Your other hand still held his firmly. Deep blue eyes glanced up to your face as Steve measured your pleasure. Those brown eyes of yours were still closed, but your open mouth and blissful moans let him know he was helping you just fine. 

He flattened his tongue against your core and your grip against his scalp tightened, he fucking loved that, and as your back started to arch, your gasps started to escalate, Steve pinned your gyrating hips down to keep you close. 

God your luscious thighs, squeezing against his ears, encouraging him... one of his favorite things of being intimate with you. 

You weren't long after that. Your body tensed briefly before you tumbled over the edge of release. You hazily trailed your hand from his hair to his cheek, running your fingers over the day's growing shadow. Your touch was gentle, appreciative, as you opened your eyes to silently thank him. 

Steve made his way back up your body, flicking at the buttons of his shirt along the way. When the last was released, you leaned up to help shrug the garnment off his broad form. As he freed himself from the rest of his clothes, he watched you pull off your tank top, the last bit of interference between you. 

You kissed him, eager yet controlled as you wiggled your hips to surround his narrow waist. Steve slipped his palm among your arrangement of curls, worshiped your supple lips, until he felt your slick heat rub against him. 

"Make love to me, Steve. Make me feel."

Steve swallowed thickly, peering into your eyes, dark and mysterious, awe-inspiring and vast, like the universe itself. You were his world and THIS world would not take you away from him. 

He hooked his arms under your knees, positioning you, just so, and made his way inside of you. The sweet sensation of his drag was satisfying for you both. He paused for a moment, to slide his arms under your back, latching his hands into your shoulders. He cocooned you in his embrace, protecting you, blocking out the stress and despair. 

Steve teased his long nose against your jaw, taking in your tiny, grateful whimpers, and soon, his body was treating you to a slow, steady rhythm. His strokes were determined and deep, focused as his cock sought out those secret spots of yours. Your nails clutching desperately at his back, guiding his way.

Your fingers moved up and massaged his scalp as you whispered loving words into his ear. Steve murmured your name back, repeating promises made on that special day...

_I've got you._

_You are my all, my everything._

_I will always be there._

_I love you._

_I love you so much._

"Steve..." you quivered.

"I'm here, Baby. I'm here," Steve panted against your neck.

"Make me feel, Steve. Don't stop."

He peppered your jaw with greedy kisses and was startled to taste salt once again. You were crying again.

"Y/n?"

The hand still on his back slid down to grab his ass in desperation. 

"Don't stop," you breathlessly pleaded.

As you both clung to each other, grasping for normalcy, for hope, for each other, Steve, with a few more pumps of his hips, soon had you both tumbling into blissful serenity. With the last of himself spilled deep into you, he smoothed the now unruly curls from your face.

"I love you," he confessed. He promised. 

"I love you too, Steve."

Steve gently rolled off and cradled you between a meaty bicep and his chest. He looked over your naked form, so small compared to him, but he loved every inch of your brown body. He feathered the tips of his fingers over your collar bone. How could anyone hate or mistreat someone because of the color of their skin? It made no damn sense, not in 1920 and certainly not 100 years later.

As sleep finally took you, he pulled up the covers, taking care not to disturb you too much.

God knows you needed the rest.

He kissed the top of your hair, taking in the soothing vanilla, and closed his eyes, offering a silent prayer.

What was happening to the country was not something he, nor the remaining Avengers could fix alone. The soul of his country had to be decided upon by her people and with everything he had seen in his life, both of this world, and beyond, he still believed in miracles. 

**Author's Note:**

> With this particular fic, I took the liberty to moderate comments. This fic was written therapy for myself and for anyone else who may benefit from this fantasy escape. I wanted to make sure this space stayed positive. 
> 
> Y'all take care of yourselves.


End file.
